


Always Again

by CupcakeGirlA



Series: Not Never and Always [2]
Category: Diving RPF, Olympics RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGirlA/pseuds/CupcakeGirlA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have his body pressed to yours, naked and sleep warm. And you know all hope is lost. He’s the only one you’ve ever let get close enough to destroy you. You’ve granted him full access, and you know, even though he won’t mean too, that he’ll end up ruining you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Again

**Author's Note:**

> Follows directly after 'Not Never Again.'

You know that it bothers him. That he won’t, can’t, acknowledge it. He will never ask for it, or seek it out. Not from you. Not from anyone. You know him better than anybody else does. So you don’t ever bring it up. You don’t push. You care too much about him to hurt him that way. 

It’s not like a real relationship. He’s your teammate on the national team, your partner in synchro, your competition in individual, and yet always your friend. Then, once in a great while, for just a few select hours, he becomes your everything. The next morning, however, he always pulls himself away from you like nothing at all happened the night before. He’ll keep his distance, avoid eye contact, and be unusually quiet, which is saying something. David’s a pretty low-key guy in general, so for you to call him quiet, what you really mean is he’s pretty much silent. It’s always disconcerting, even when you know to expect it. Luckily he usually gets over it pretty quickly, and soon things are back to normal again.

You like that the two of you have built a great friendship, a partnership on the platform. You like that he stays at your place when he comes to North Carolina, and that you stay his when you go to Indiana. You like the easy camaraderie you have with each other, the way you can read his mind, and he yours on and off the pool deck. You like that he knows you well enough to know when to give you your space, and when to give you a pep-talk. You like the silent communication you’ve got in crowded rooms, and at press conferences. You like that you can go out to a restaurant with him and he never makes fun of how much you eat, because he’s eating just as much, that he never snaps your speedo suit, because that shit hurts, and he knows just how much. You like that he never has a negative thing to say about anyone and he always tries to be positive. You also really like his dimples, but that one’s really beside the point. 

You’re sort of a little in love with him. You want him. All the time. But you know that isn’t what he wants. That he won’t let himself want it. You. And you’ll take whatever you can get from him. But last night. Last night something seemed different. Last night something had changed. And you’re not sure why. Was it the joy of the gold medal? The relief of the games being over? Had he somehow realized something about himself? 

He’d begged. Pleaded. He’d held you close and clutched at your back. He’d kissed you. He’s never kissed you before. 

You close your eyes in the half-light of his dorm room, remembering the way his mouth had felt on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the sting of his teeth on your bottom lip. The reaction is instantaneous, your dick hardening, your body tensing with renewed want. You turn your head away from where he sleeps, rolling carefully onto your back in the tiny bed and trying to keep your breathing steady. 

This need is nothing new. For two years you’ve fought to control it, only giving in during those rare moments when David wants you too, when he lets you. It’s a delicate balance seducing him without scaring him away, and in this moment you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it up. 

You know David is taking a long break when you get back to the states. Four months away from the diving well. No joint work-outs, or competitions, or practice sessions. No visits to Indiana for you or to North Carolina for him. Four months with no David at all. And while half of you dreads it, not seeing him, not touching him, not even talking to him every day, the other half of you rejoices. It’s hard (pun not intended) to be so close to him. To spend so much of your time with him and not make him yours. To not let your feelings show in every glance, every word, every casual touch. The break will be a welcome relief, a respite from these feelings that thrill and torment you in equal measure. 

Yet you dread October, when you know he’ll be marrying his girl. When he’ll make her his wife. Because for David that will be final. It will be an irrevocable promise that you know, KNOW he will never break. And this thing between you will be over. You’re half expecting him to tell you he’s done with platform. He’s switching to springboard and the two of you are over in every way. For good. Because that would be so like David. Win a gold medal, and move on. Marry your fiancée and kick the guy you let fuck you on occasion out of your life, all in one foul swoop. 

You’re being ridiculous, and you know it. You blink your eyes open to stare at the ceiling, ignoring the two tears that roll down your temples and into your hair. 

In the end, he was never really yours, so why does it feel like a loss? Like tonight was goodbye? 

“Nick?” you tense, your hands fisting in the sheet at your waist and you don’t reply. “Nick, what’s wrong?” he asks. You close your eyes when you feel him shift beside you. You can’t look at him right now. 

“Nothing, David. Go back to sleep,” you sit up, letting your legs fall over the edge of the bed, putting your back to him. You need to get out of here. You can’t handle this. Not right now. Not when you’re so raw. 

David might have won last night, but you hadn’t even made the top 5. You’d barely made the top 10. And yes, you were going home a bronze medalist in synchro, but you’d wanted an individual medal too, and you’re disappointed in yourself, as much as you’re happy for him, if not more. You can’t handle all of that and your feelings for David too. Because he can’t understand, not when he’s going home an Olympic Champion, and getting married, and ignoring any and all feelings he might have for you, by pretending they don’t exist. And you just… you shake your head, cutting off the inner monologue. Your brain is going in circles, and you’re old enough now to realize that nothing is going to change the 50th time you dissect it in the privacy of your own head, so why try?

Instead you reach for your boxers, snagging them from the floor beside the bed, and bending to pull them on. You feel the bed shift behind you but you don’t react. 

“Nick, where are you going?” he asks. You shake your head. 

“I need to get back to my room,” you explain. “I don’t want to get caught out after curfew. Technically we’re not free until tomorrow to do what we want. I have to go.” 

The bed shifts again and you can feel him getting closer, well before he touches you. And then he does, his hands sliding over your shoulders, arms following to wrap around you from behind, and you have his body pressed to yours, naked and sleep warm. And you know all hope is lost. He’s the only one you’ve ever let get close enough to destroy you. You’ve granted him full access, and you know even though he won’t mean too, that he’ll end up ruining you. 

“Don’t go,” he says, his voice hoarse. And you snap. Only it’s not like a violent snap. You aren’t angry. You’re desperate. And hearing him ask that of you… it’s the last straw. 

You drop your shorts back to the floor, and turn on the bed, to face him. You half expect him to drop his arms from your shoulders, but he doesn’t. He keeps holding you, keeps you close. You can see worry in his face, confusion and trepidation. All you want to do is kiss it away, so you do. 

Leaning forward you take his mouth with yours. He freezes against you. But you don’t fall for it. He’s the one who kissed you last night. He’s the one who started it then, and he’s the one who’s touching you now, who asked you to stay. He’s in this, whether he wants to be or not. The thought gives you strength and you kiss him harder, opening your mouth against his, and you feel him relax against you, his mouth opening to yours. You break the kiss to gasp for air, and you open your eyes to study his face. He looks pained, unsure. But you don’t let that stop you. You press him back into the bed, climbing on top of him and he lets you. You bend over him, letting your lips trace his face, the length of his neck, the dip of his collarbone and the curve of his shoulder. You let your teeth graze the muscle there and he groans, pressing his hips up against yours. 

Things escalate. You maneuver his body around to lay lengthwise down the bed, using every trick you can to keep him engaged. Your hips stay pressed to his, moving in tight small circles, until he’s panting up at you, whining with want. His hands turn grabby, dragging your mouth back to his, his legs widening to give you room, to fold around your hips in a possessive tug that has your whole body rocking against his. 

You lick across his panting mouth, meeting his wide eyes. He’s already lost in it, surrendered to the pleasure of your body pressed to his. You wait for it, and then right on cue his body goes pliant against yours. Suddenly that isn’t at all what you want. You don’t want this to be something you do to him. You want it to be something you do together. Especially if it’s going to be the last time. It takes only seconds to formulate the plan.

You reach down, pressing two fingers against his entrance. He’s still relaxed from before and your fingers sink deep with minimal effort. He keens, head rolling back and hands scrabbling across your shoulders trying to find a better grip. You reach for the supplies on the nightstand, where you’d left them earlier. You slick up your fingers, pressing them deep again, adding a third and he clamps down on them with an eagerness you aren’t expecting. The condom wrapper tears easily, and you roll it down with little fuss. You’ve gotten good at doing it one-handed. You grip his thighs, smears of lube transferring onto the tan skin of his knee as you pull his legs out further, glad he’s so flexible. 

You push push push and sink deep, and he groans so loudly in want and need that you’re afraid the people in the next dorm room will hear. You slide home, and then lower your body to rest against his. You push close, until you’re foreheads are pressed together, your eyes locked to his, your breaths mingling. You want him present for this. Not hiding from it. You want him to recognize it. Remember it without being able to reason it away. It’s you giving him this pleasure, and it’s you making him feel this alive. He shudders against you, around you, and gasps against your lips. You rock your hips in small shallow thrusts that you know will drive him crazy sooner rather than later. 

David likes to be fucked. Long, hard thrusts, that ricochet pleasure through his whole system like an old school pinball machine. He likes to feel like he’s out of control, like you’ve taken over his body and left him with no choice but to go along for the ride. ‘Coping mechanism’ your brain supplies and you bite back the urge to give him what he wants. No. Not this time. This time he’s going to have to take it. 

You rotate your hips against his, in a slow circle, letting your dick graze his prostate. His whole body jolts, and his grip on the back of your neck, and around your waist tightens in reaction, trying to manipulate you with a soft whine and the tug of fingers in your hair to touch that spot again. You shake your head, watching confusion penetrate the walls of his foggy brain. 

“Nick,” he pants, voice low and desperate, hips pressing up against yours more urgently. “Please, Nick,” he whispers. You shake your head again, more deliberately, pulling your hips away from his but staying firmly inside of him. “What?” he doesn’t understand. You fit your hands to his hips, pushing them down, hard against the mattress, stilling the forward momentum of your own. He wiggles against the mattress, his desperation growing. “Oh G..” he catches himself, and drops his head back against the mattress. “Please!” he pleads, hands pressing to your back and shoulders, moving restlessly across the length of your body. You pull away instead, completely, and he lets out a startled grunt of almost pained displeasure, as you leave him empty. “Nick!” he barks. You flop down to lay beside him. He stares at you, legs akimbo, his erection dark and hard where it’s pressed to his belly. He stares at you in horror. 

“Dave, come here,” you order. It’s the first words you’ve uttered since he first touched you and he blinks it you in astonishment. 

“Huh?” he asks, pulling himself into a sitting position. 

“If you want it, come and get it,” you say, letting one hand slide under the back of your head to tangle in your sweaty hair. He stares at you for a full 5 seconds, long enough to consider whether this was really the brightest idea you’d ever had, and then he’s there, on top of you for a change, hands exploring, hips rocking against yours, lips and teeth and tongue doing their best to get you to respond, and you do, kissing him back wholeheartedly, hands venturing forward to touch any and every part of him you can reach. 

Your hands settle on his hips, pushing them up and he pulls back to watch you grip your erection. It takes him only a half a second to get with the program, raising himself up and then sliding down onto your dick like he’s done it a thousand times. You watch the pleasure race through his face, the grip of his hands on your shoulders making them ache even harder than they always do, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Instead you grip his hips tighter, guiding them into an up and down motion that has him shuddering against you, and groaning in soft little bursts that make your spine tingle. Once he has the rhythm, you let go to reach for his dick. This won’t take long. 

It’s only a few minutes later that he starts to gasp, dick filling in your hand. You groan, pressing your hips up off the bed, to slide that much deeper into his ass, with just a touch more speed and strength, and his eyes go wide as he comes in ropey jets across your chest. You arch up hard, crying out his name as you come hard inside him. His shoulders relax, even as his pelvis keeps up an aborted rhythm against your hips, ringing the last few drops of pleasure out of both of you. Eventually he falls still, collapsing to lay spent, spread out across your body. 

You stare up at the ceiling, luxuriating in the feel of his body pressed sweaty and hot all down the length of your own, and you ignore the tears gathering in your eyes. 

The only word echoing in your ears, over and over again is ‘goodbye.’


End file.
